When in later years she looked back upon the day, Karta would always be surprised it had been such an ordinary day. There was no bright sun shining through dark, stormy clouds and bathing the sparring arena in a beam of light. Neither was there a flash of lightning or a rolling thunder. Except for a cool temperature and a chilly western wind there was nothing remarkable about the weather.
Yet the day was special to Karta. Although it started out as ordinary as any day had at the Tower up until that point, the late morning would bring about an event with far-reaching consequences in her life.
After she had been woken by Lisa, her roommate, and had gone through the routine of their communal morning exercises followed by washing, combing her hair and donning her uniform she went to the dinner hall for breakfast.
Two hours later found her busy sweeping the sparring arena when her attention was suddenly diverted to the gathering of a small crowd of Ji'alantin and even some Gaidin. A bustling of darker grey uniforms and coloured clothing, even if most of the colours were green or brownish. Except for the disciplined behaviour of the crowd it resembled the way people in her home city would react to a sighting of note, such as a gleeman, passing through their streets.
Even stranger than the sight of a bustling crowd in the yards was the fact that none of the Gaidin seemed interested in shooing the trainees back to their sparring and chores. Intrigued by this unexplainable phenomena Karta tried to unobtrusively move closer in her sweeping, until she managed to find a spot from where she could peek through the masses at what was going on.
In the middle of one of the larger sparring circles the Master of Training, Firredal Gaidin stood in a position which seemed both at ease and ready for action at the same time, holding his sword straight at shoulder height and watching his opponent tentatively. Clad in a Cairhienin-style getup comprised of dark-coloured, loose-fitting shirt and breeches and high boots. Except for the absence of the cloth sash he used to hold his sheath he was dressed as usual.
That opponent was a tall, unknown Gaidin, possibly a Borderlander, who held his sword in much the same way. Dressed in baggy breeches and a bright blue coat, both elaborately embroidered, his clothing seemed especially chosen to oppose Firredal's, though of course that was nonsense.
For a few, long moments, the whole world seemed to hold his breath as both men stood poised for battle, eyeing each other warily. Then, suddenly, Firredal Gaidin seemingly sprang into action, directing a lightningfast slash at the other's shoulder, who responded by parrying in a seemingly slow, almost lazy, fashion.
And then the dance began in earnest. Karta could do nothing but watch, rooted to the spot with her eyes glued on the battle. Battle. Such an unsophisticated word for something so beautiful. It's really more of a dance than one would suspect.
Again and again the men danced around each other, slashing and parrying, advancing and retreating. Their swords almost became a blur of motion as they moved from form to form as fluid as water. No spectator could draw his eyes away from the spar but with great force of will, and everyone breathed shallowly, afraid of disturbing the magic of the moment with the sound of a deep breath.
Then, suddenly, the other Gaidin's upward slash was deflected to the side by Firredal Gaidin's blade, and as the Cairhienin smoothly sidestepped and pivoted he drew his blade along in an upward slash to the other's throat.
For a moment, all seemed quiet and still now that the battle was over, then someone started clapping and suddenly everyone in the crowd applauded vehemently as the two combatants, apparently unnerved by the unexpected gathering around them. The Cairhienin Master of Training gave it some time before he quickly silenced the sound by holding up his hand.
"Don't you all have someplace to be?" he asked exasperatedly, and with a flurry of activity the crowd dispersed as he extended his hand toward his opponent.
Startled by his tone Karta suddenly remembered what she was doing, and suddenly noticing the stiff wind's chill again she looked around to find her broom lying at her feet, discarded and forgotten in the thrill of the fight. Hurriedly she resumed her sweeping, but her mind often drifted off to what she just witnessed.
It was beautiful, such fluid motions ... a dance, a deathly dance, is indeed the more appropriate name for it. Never before have I seen such elegance in a swordfight. The way the Ji'alantin spar doesn't even come close. Maybe ... no, Master Firredal Gaidin is far too busy to train a simple Drin'far'ji like me. But wasn't there a class taught by one of the Asha'man? When I'm finished with this I'll see about signing up.
OOC: Firredal Gaidin was so kind as to give permission to use his character in this way.